


Alone

by turningoverwill



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jon and the aftermath of his parentage reveal, Mentions of Jonerys, Mentions of Lyanna/Rhaegar, boy is in dire need of a hug, ghost is the bestest boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-31 06:43:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18585889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turningoverwill/pseuds/turningoverwill
Summary: The air is thick, getting thicker, Jon can feel it sticking like tar, and he’s choking. He’s long since told Sam to leave him, but his words linger, fester, and Jon can feel the truth of them on his chest. Did you know?Jon in the immediate aftermath of the revelations of his parentage.





	Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! I posted this on tumblr yesterday, and yes I realise I’m a week late with this, but I’ve been trying to properly sort out my thoughts on that parentage reveal by Sam (not one thought is pleasant) and this attacked me a few days ago, and wouldn’t stop hounding me until I wrote it. So here, have some word vomit of Jon Snow dealing post parentage reveal. 
> 
> Again, only looked over by me so al mistakes are my own. Hope you like it, and let me know your thoughts! :)

 

 

The air is thick, getting thicker, Jon can feel it sticking like tar, and he’s choking. He’s long since told Sam to leave him, but his words linger,  _ fester _ , and Jon can feel the truth of them on his chest.  _ Did you know? _

 

He had come down to the Crypts to seek some solace, some quiet. A familiar tiredness had started to settle into his bones again, since arriving back at Winterfell, and Jon found himself aching for the silence of the Stark family tombs, the comfort he always found from his Father’s statue.  _ What would he have done in my place?  _ It only took a few words for Sam to shatter the borrowed peace,  _ to shatter Jon _ . 

 

The air starts to claw. The hard stare of his ancestor’s statues judging. His mother’s ancestors.  _ Do they judge my presence here amongst them?  _ His mother’s statue is soft and lovely.  _ Did she ever seek solace in this place? Did she ever think about having a son?  _ It’s suffocating.  _ He’s at the bottom of a crush, bodies piling on top of him. _ He needs to get out before he’s buried. 

 

He turns, abruptly, and fights his way up the steep steps. Quickly,  _ quickly, now _ . He throws open the doors, and sucks in a lungful of the night air as he puts his hands on his knees. It’s a violent rush, a sudden stabbing of nausea, he vomits. He glances up, thankful the courtyard is quieter than when he had entered the crypts, and that no one seems to be paying him any heed. 

 

Jon feels a harsh glare, turns his head to look behind him. Nothing.  _ Of course they can’t follow him from the crypts.  _ His skin begins to prick, and suddenly he isn’t far enough away. Breathing becomes heavy, laboured, and then he’s walking in whatever direction his legs are taking him, just as long as it’s  _ not here _ . 

 

He knows the frosty dark air should bite, longs for it to sink it’s cold heart into his being, if only to freeze the storm raging inside him, ice the waves causing him to feel dizzy. Duty….  _ Love _ ….. Honour….  _ Family _ …. Did Lord Stark ever resent him? Resent his presence? Resent what his existence meant?  _ Resent what the protection of his life cost him? _

 

He finds himself longing for the days where his greatest worry was Catelyn Stark and her scorn-filled stare.  _ Did she know?  _ No, of course not. Would her treatment have been different had she been aware?  _ Might she have treated me like her true born children?  _ Jon’s stomach rolls as he finds he does not care for answer. 

 

He can feel his blood licking in his veins, a bitter secret acrid on his tongue, and it’s not just bile he swallows down. Before he quite realises what is happening, he’s taking a practice sword and aiming at a target pole. 

 

A stake is being driven into his into his heart, each forceful blow of the mallet a different realisation. Winter is Coming _(thwack)_ Fire and Blood _(thwack)_ A stain on Ned Stark _(thwack)_ Lyanna and Rhaegar _(thwack)_ Whore mother _(thwack)_ Lord Stark is my father _(thwack)_ Married in secret _(thwack)_ Not my name _(thwack)_ But my blood _(thwack)_ We’ll talk about your mother _(thwack)_ I promise _(thwack)_ Aegon Targaryen _(thwack)_ Not a bastard _(thwack)_ Daenerys is Queen _(thwack)_ Not a bastard _(thwack)_ It’s treason _(thwack)_ A son of two noble houses _(thwack)_ Dany’s nephew _(thwack)_ Not a bastard _(thwack)_ Heir to the Iron Throne _(thwack)_ **Not** _(thwack)_ **A** _(thwack)_ **Bastard** _(thwack thwack)._

 

He stumbles forward at the force of his last blow, the anguish flying from his mouth and the sword from his hands, across the empty courtyard. Yet still he can feel a hard stare _. Away _ . He must retreat further away.

 

Exhaustion crashes over him and Jon blinks once,  _ twice _ . His feet carry him forward once again, until he realises where the path he is taking leads, and forces himself to stop. Daenerys.  _ His aunt _ . He wishes it false, a cruel jape by Sam in a moment of grief _.  _ He wishes it  _ impossible.  _ The Gods truly do play brutal games.  _ Had they not toyed with him enough?  _

 

He wants to feel her hand in his, to feel the comfort her presence provides; a comfort he had not allowed himself to dream of finding. He longs for it now the most. He wants to go back to the waterfall, back to the rush of being with his love and riding a dragon.  _ Was that a clue, should he have known? _ Did Daenerys have any inclination?  _ We could stay a thousand years, no one would find us.  _ He should have insisted they stayed.

 

Will she want to look at him? Would she be disgusted with him?  _ True heir to the Iron Throne.  _ No,  _ NO _ . Daenerys is Queen, the rightful ruler of these lands,  _ these kingdoms _ . He wants her to know,  _ needs  _ her to know. He wants to fall into her, give her no reason to doubt him. 

 

He wants to run to her, have her arms encircle him once more, tell her she is the queen,  _ his queen _ , the only queen he wishes to know. He wants to be back on that ship, with quiet sweet words, with a physical intimacy his body always craves, humming just under the surface.  _ He loves her and he’s her nephew.  _ He feels she loves him, can see it in her eyes, knows it in her gentle caresses. And yet the steady ground she provides for him is irrevocably shaken. 

 

No one stops him as he makes his way back into the keep, and he’s grateful. He takes the darker corridors, hidden stairs;  _ routes well known to bastard _ , one who is supposed to live in the shadows. A Warden’s work is never done, especially one preparing for battle, but he knows he cannot speak, does not know what he might say, what exactly might spill from his lips.

 

He finds himself outside his boyhood chambers, those he occupied before he left for The Wall. He opens the door, and finds the stale air does not bother him. No one is currently occupying this room, surprising with the sudden increase of the castle’s population. There is no longer a bed, just some furs thrown over some chests, and Jon is thankful for how unbusy it is. 

 

How many hours,  _ days,  _ had he spent in this room thinking of his mother. Wondering if she was kind, imagining her face.  _ Did she love him, did she care? _ He doesn’t know how long he gazed at her statue this evening, motionless time, spent looking, thinking, of her life, of her death, bleeding and in pain, her last thought of him.  _ Would she be proud of him? _

 

He remembers an overwhelming childhood thought, that his mother had thought he would be a bad son, a bad person,  _ a bastard could be no other thing after all , _ and so she could not bear to keep him, to give him the loving touch of a mother. And Lord Stark, the most honourable man, with all that is good, did not shirk his responsibility. His example gave Jon the thing he clung to as a child, determined to be the best son he could be,  _ the best person _ he could be. To show enough to earn a place as one of Lord Stark’s sons, to be more than a stain on his reputation. 

 

And what of his Father?  _ An uncle, not a father. _ For so long being the son, even the bastard son of Lord Eddard Stark had been his only source of pride.  _ He should have wondered about his father too.  _ But it’s gone, decimated by a lie, and Jon feels his breathing grow shallow. 

 

Robb and Sansa and Arya and Bran and Rickon.  _ Cousins, not siblings.  _  Would his remaining family turn from him, reject him, cast him from the only home he thought he would know?  _ Rhaenys and Aegon. Was his ‘true name’ another spiteful jape?  _ Murdered and butchered, for their name,  _ for their father, _ and yet here he is, life protected by a blanket of snow. 

 

_ So many dead for the sake of a lie…. _

 

Deeper, deeper, further down he spirals. 

 

A sound at the door breaks him away from the knot of thoughts. A scratching, followed by a low whine, and Jon scrambles to the door.  _ Ghost.  _

 

Of course; he isn’t surprised, knows he can feel his anguish, this creature, this beast that is a part of him. The dire wolf enters, and Jon sinks his hands into his animal’s soft fur. He rests his forehead against the door as he closes out the rest of the castle. He feels Ghost nuzzling his side, and Jon turns before collapsing against the door. 

 

His wolf sits, protectively. He remembers the times the when the wolf felt like the only friend left to him. Arriving at The Wall. _Stupid green boy._ Running to Robb after Fa-Ned... _Your Brothers brought you back._ Ygritte’s death. _You were wrong to love her._ The loneliness of being Lord Commander. _Didn’t want it_. Arriving back after Hardhome. _You failed them._ Betrayed and murdered. _I should have stayed dead._ Every move as King in the North being questioned. _Didn’t want it_ _didn’twantitdidn’twantit._

 

He can feel the cracks throughout his soul; ruptures and fractures, a million different pieces, spreading, until  _ there is nothing whole _ . 

 

Ghost pressing his snout into his face brings Jon the only warmth he knows is available to him now. The only thing that feels  _ real _ in this moment.

 

It’s only here, with Ghost, as he buries his face into his only companion’s fur, does he allow himself to so completely break.

**Author's Note:**

> This had the working title ‘Jonno Really Needs a Hug’, in case you were wondering lol. 
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read this, I really appreciate it. ❤ I hope you enjoyed it, and let me know what you think! :)


End file.
